


my heart got caught on your sleeve

by fliptomybside



Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6263446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fliptomybside/pseuds/fliptomybside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taylor runs into Harry at the Grammys. Four years down the line and things haven't changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my heart got caught on your sleeve

**Author's Note:**

> This was an exercise in trying to defeat my writer's block. It is very short and does contain infidelity, so if that isn't your thing, please turn back now. Title from Lucius, unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine, please don't let the real people that this is about see it, etc. etc.

There’s a picture of her at her first Grammys tacked on the mirror, and Taylor’s never felt further from that person than she does in this moment. She was soft then, long curls and a dress straight out of a fairytale, all shiny lip gloss smile and carefully arched eyebrows. When she looks in the mirror now, she’s sharp angles and miles of skin. Toned stomach, strong legs on display, hair pin straight and a foot shorter, bangs blunt across her forehead. It feels like a defense mechanism. _Don’t fuck with me I’m not a little girl anymore,_ the slight frown on her face says, but there’s a flush from her win earlier on her cheeks and she isn’t, she knows now that being on top means almost everyone is against you.

Hands cover her eyes and she lurches forward instinctively, breath catching in her throat before she hears Selena giggle. Taylor can smell her perfume, something clean and familiar and it’s grounding even as she feels like she’s teetering on the precipice of something. 

“I don’t even feel like myself right now,” Taylor says, and she watches in the mirror as Selena rests her head on her shoulder.

“You look like a bad bitch,” Selena says with a smile, and Taylor laughs as she pulls away.

“You’re perfect,” she tells Selena, because it’s true. Fuck. When did they grow up, she wonders. “You ready?” Selena nods and reaches for her hand and Taylor grips it tight.

-

She really is always surprised when she wins, and it’s weirdly bittersweet this time. She feels defensive even now, like she’s still got something to prove, and none of it feels like she thought it would.

Taylor doesn’t know what comes after this, is the thing. It sounds fucking selfish, even in her own head. What happens after I achieve everything I ever wanted? But she feels a nervous buzz under her skin and the sick curl of anxiety in her stomach, like everyone’s still waiting for her to fail, like everyone’s already anticipating her next move.

She ducks out and makes a beeline for the bathroom. It’s dark and quiet in the hall in front of the bathrooms, and she swears she can hear herself vibrating, but she’s blessedly alone, and she takes a few shaky breaths and just tries to stay still for a second, closes her eyes and focuses on the velvety dark of the inside of her eyelids. 

“Congratulations,” someone says from behind her, and it sounds familiar and strange all at once, and when she swings around, Harry’s standing in the hallway, long haired and shirt unbuttoned down to there and looking nothing like the eighteen year old version of himself.

“Thanks,” she starts after a few seconds. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Making the rounds, you know. Couldn’t miss the big night,” he says, voice raspy. 

“How’s Kendall?” she asks, and she’s proud of the fact that her tone is neutral, years of media training finally paying off.

Harry shrugs noncommittally and doesn’t respond. Same old Harry, then. She shouldn’t be surprised anymore. 

The silence stretches out between them, and Taylor feels awkward. She isn’t sure how to navigate this, hasn’t quite come down from everything yet, and she knows that she’s going to miss Record of the Year, but she doesn’t feel like she can move. She tips to the side so she’s leaning against the wall, feet aching in her heels. She’s taller than Harry in them, even leaning, and when he blinks at her, slow like he’s just waking up from a long nap, she flashes back to all the nights they spent in hotel rooms in New York. 

“Congratulations,” he says, breaking the silence. He’s looking at her intently, and she feels the blush rising on her cheeks even as she tries to fight it.

“You said that,” Taylor can’t help but point out. She’s not sure where they’re going here, but it’s not where she thought she’d be tonight. Staring down the great heartbreak of her life in a dark hallway outside the bathrooms at the Grammys, post-winning Album of the Year for the one she wrote about him.

“You might’ve helped a bit,” she says, when Harry doesn’t do anything but chuckle in response. There’s two feet of space between them but it feels like miles and he looks like a stranger, all long hair and shirt unbuttoned enough that she can see the butterfly tattoo on his stomach. 

He blushes, weirdly enough. They might not be close anymore, but Taylor knew Harry once, knew how much he loved everyone’s attention, whether it was at his expense or not. She doesn’t quite know how to navigate this much silence, because all she can remember is the whispered conversations late at night and the breathless laughter in his car and the constant thrum of noise when they were together.

“You deserve it all, shouldn’t be thanking me,” he says, finally, and when he smiles at her, it’s still devastating. For a second, she can see who he used to be, all bright smiles and barking laughter, careless even in the ways that mattered.

She moves forward to hug him before she can second guess herself, and he must be surprised, because it takes him a second to wrap his arms around her, but then she’s engulfed in the vestiges of his Tom Ford cologne and the silky fabric of his shirt. 

She can’t see their future anymore, not like she used to. God, she spent hours, days of her life daydreaming about flats in London and waking up to Harry’s sleepy green eyes and sun bright pictures of a little girl with impossibly curly hair. It’s a fairytale that she gave up on a long time ago, but in this moment, with Harry’s arms tight around her, Taylor wants it more than she’s ever wanted anything, and that’s what brings her back, reality sharpening around her as she loosens her hold on him.

Harry lets go slowly but he doesn’t step back, just stands still in front of her, pupils huge in the dark. She can see every pore on his face this close, and it’s comforting to know that even he isn’t perfect, despite what her memories might tell her.

“Mum still asks about you,” he says, and he’s so close that she can count the hairs in his mustache and feel his breath on her lips. 

“I’m a mom’s dream, let’s be honest,” Taylor whispers, because whatever this is feels taut, like it could break any second, and it’s familiar in a way that she hates. 

“You’re a dream,” Harry says, and his voice is deep and coming from anyone else, it would sound like a line, and maybe it is, but apparently she’s still someone who falls for Harry Styles’ charms, because it slows the uncomfortable buzz under her skin. 

Taylor closes her eyes for a second and makes a decision, and maybe it’s the wrong one, maybe she’ll hate herself an hour from now, but it doesn’t matter.

She opens her eyes.

“You can kiss me,” she says, an inch from his lips, and she’s a girl who has a boyfriend and Harry’s a boy who maybe has a girlfriend, but she needs this, this last sentence, the final period, years later. 

For a vicious second, she thinks she’s miscalculated again. That she still doesn’t have a handle on Harry, even now. That he’s grown up in the four years since they went down in flames. Her stomach twists and then he sways forward and presses his lips against hers and every muscle in her body relaxes into it.

It’s soft and it feels like coming home when Harry slides his hands around her waist. His hands are hot against her bare skin, and she tilts her head to the right, just like she did when they were clinging to something that was already over, and Harry sighs into her mouth, tongue sliding against hers and she tangles her hands in the curls at the base of his skull and considers never letting go.

“’s probably a bad idea,” Harry mumbles against her mouth, and Taylor knows he’s right, but he’s also in front of her and his mouth is on hers and she missed it, and this is it, the last thing, what will put an end to the two of them. 

She pulls back for a second to look at him. His lips are red, even in the dark, and she can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest.  

“I don’t care,” she says, and she’s not whispering now. She’s not being careful or ladylike like she was when she still believed in true love and forever, and she’s not thinking about Adam when she pushes Harry into the single stall ladies room. The door swings shut behind them, the click of the lock deafening and decisive, and Harry’s hands are on her upper arms and he spins her around and pushes her back against the door so fast that it knocks the breath out of her for a second. 

His lips are insistent against hers this time, and this is what she remembers. Fast hands and his lips all over her, as he presses his lips down her neck and nips at her pulse point. She exhales hard and drags her nails down his chest. He groans and drops his head against her shoulder, breath hot against her skin, and Taylor doesn’t want to drag this out, doesn’t want to give herself the chance to miss it. 

Her hands are steady at his belt buckle, efficient as they slide down his zip, and then he’s hot in her hands, already a little slick with anticipation, and she shudders as she tugs him, thumbing over the tip. He bats her hands away and moves back up to kiss her again, pressing her against the door. She feels smothered almost, can feel every line of Harry’s body against hers, his dick insistent against her thigh, and she wants this, always and forever, even if it’s not hers to have anymore, even if this is the last time. 

“Come on, come on, have to get back soon,” Taylor pants against his mouth as she fumbles out of her underwear while Harry digs around in his pockets for a condom. She can’t stop looking at his dick when he rolls it on, remembers the first time he slid inside her, always on the edge of too much, remembers how being with him felt like she was taking her sexuality for a ride for the first time. 

He steps forward, presses her up against the door and pulls her leg up over his hip, and they’ve been here before but it’s been a long time and it takes a minute, limbs and hands fumbling and Taylor laughs, it echoing through the bathroom and Harry huffs out a chuckle when she’s finally got her legs wrapped around his hips and they’re still for a minute. Taylor can feel him hot against her, and she’s not embarrassed about how wet she is like she was the first time they did it. She arches her hips against him as best she can, and Harry surges forward and presses his lips against hers, slips his tongue into her mouth at the same time as he pushes inside her and she groans, can’t help it with the way he slams his hips into hers, setting a ruthless pace like he knows that they’re chasing after something they’re never going to get back.

They’re not really kissing anymore, just panting against each other’s mouths, and Taylor can feel the strain in Harry’s arms as he pushes up against her again. He feels too deep at this angle, almost, and she can feel the rough hair on his lower stomach against her clit every time he moves and it’s working for her in ways she didn’t expect, rushing her towards her orgasm, and she knows Harry’s close, each thrust jerkier than the last, and when she bites his bottom lip, hard, that’s what does it. He shoves in one last time and reaches down to circle his thumb around her, and she’s so slick and the callused skin is delicious friction and she shakes apart, clenching around him hard enough that he groans again, licking into her mouth with the kind of desperation she misses.

She slides down against the door after Harry pulls out, and she knows it’s probably not sanitary and this is a very nice dress, but her legs don’t want to hold her up anymore. She stares at Harry’s skinny legs, pants so tight they’re probably uncomfortable, not that he’d ever admit it.

“I’m going on vacation with Adam next month,” Taylor says into the quiet. She’s not sure why she says it, knows it doesn’t matter because this is it, this is the very last time, but saying it out loud makes it feel official. Final. 

Harry’s quiet for a minute, and the sound of his zipper is startling in the silence. He’s still breathing quickly, and she worries about his asthma for a second.

“You’ll have a nice time,” he says, and it’s sincere and a little sad, almost. Taylor’s not sure if she’s projecting or not. She always heard what she wanted when it came to Harry. Probably why she was so disappointed. 

“He’s not going to leave me,” she says, and she wishes she could blame her honesty on alcohol, but she’s painfully sober, and it’s time to wrap this up before she tells Harry she misses him. She struggles back into her underwear and stands up, only a little unsteady on her feet.

“Be fucking stupid to, and he’s not,” Harry says, and he smiles and kisses her forehead, hands on her cheeks. It’s a sharp contrast to the harsh grip he had on her hips, and she forces a smile when he pulls back and slips out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://whatmaddiesaid.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
